


Voice of the Dead

by FlufferNutterButter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlufferNutterButter/pseuds/FlufferNutterButter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had heard from her victims that your friends are supposed to meet you in the afterlife.<br/>She had no friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voice of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a headcanon that I tossed around in my head for a few hours tonight before writing down.

She had heard from her victims that your friends are supposed to meet you in the afterlife.

She had no friends.

Which is why, when the pain from her death finally faded, and she felt the dull glow of what lies beyond welcoming her, she didn’t expect anyone to be there.

When she opened her eyes to the whiteness, she was right. Nobody was waiting for her in the endless cloud. Why should they? They never knew her.

She resigned herself to that.

She resigned herself to a lonely eternity in this peaceful white.

And then she didn’t.

Because, out of the mist, came a figure. A silhouette, at first, and then a few more. A person, a hand, a face, a… smile?

Wait. She knew this troll. Millions of sweeps of life hadn’t erased the memory of the lone mutantblood. The Signless.

“Hello.” His speech was short, simple. He said nothing else.

Somewhere in her mind, she thanked Lord English for sending her to contract with the Condesce. Had their altercation never taken place, the Handmaid was sure that the previous millions of sweeps in solitude would have robbed her of her voice.

“Hello,” she said, letting the word hang in the air. When neither said anything else, she took a step forward, followed by another step, and another, each one slow; careful, as if she didn’t know if she should approach him. But he waited for her to reach him, and then motioned for her to follow; the two walked away into the mist.

He introduced her to others; the bronzeblooded Summoner, ochre-blood Psiioniic, the Signless’s own olive-blood lover, and his “mother”, the Dolorosa. He showed her to Redglare, to the Marquise, the Executor, and the Orphaner. Death had nulled their grudges, and they all welcomed her, more or less.

The flow of time was meaningless where she was, so the Handmaid had no idea how much later it was that something drastic happened.

The constant mist cleared for the first time since she had arrived, revealing the night. Rubble was strewn everywhere, the obvious remnants of a hive that had been destroyed. The Handmaid stepped farther out of the mist.

At her feet was a young female troll. The Handmaid stood still, staring at the body. Dark burgundy blood seeped through the troll’s clothes and onto the ground below. Her eyes were half-closed, but there was no life in them. Behind the two, the mist moved to envelop the scene.

The young troll had long, flowing dark hair and large, curving horns that, when noticed, made the Handmaid herself touch her own horns. Had she still needed to breathe, she was sure her breath would have stopped.

Her eyes scoured the body, taking in the shape, the features, and finally, the symbol half-obscured by blood and hair. She raised her hand to the tiny insignia on her dress. The Handmaid had heard of such occurrences before. Descendants. Trolls who shared the same blood and symbol. But she’d never thought that she, a troll who existed outside of the world, would have one.

“She’s dying.” The Handmaid turned at the sound of her redblooded friend’s voice. “That’s why we can see her. She’s coming into the afterlife.”

The Handmaid turned away from her comrade. He didn’t know. He didn’t have the span of time stretched out in his gaze. He didn’t know what would happen. He didn’t know what could change.

She did.

She waited until the Signless had retreated back into the mist. When she was sure she was alone, she put her plan into action. The Handmaid spoke, her voice low.

“Get up.”

There was an intangible veil between the two; the dead and the deceased. With her words, though, the Handmaid strengthened that veil. One which would be easily permeated by a soul reaching the other side was now an impenetrable wall, preventing the young troll from crossing over. The body stirred; a haze formed around it, glowing brightly until the body and the being were separate. Aradia Megido stood, no longer bound by her body. The Handmaid watched as her Descendant’s eyes opened slowly, revealing pure white.

Aradia’s face betrayed no emotion. The Handmaid saw herself in that. She spoke again, her voice being the only thing that could cross the barrier.

“There is still work to be done.”


End file.
